


Hit the Ground

by IronZealot196



Series: Prophecy and Probabilty [1]
Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms, Warhammer Fantasy
Genre: Crossover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23767087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IronZealot196/pseuds/IronZealot196
Summary: A Spartan is expected to be able to survive in hostile environments. To stay behind enemy lines and bleed them with a thousand cuts, or deliver a decisive blow to cripple a threat before it can materialize. But can a lone Headhunter make it in a world where magic and superstition are as tangible as the weapon in his hands, and perhaps, even more deadly?
Series: Prophecy and Probabilty [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712158
Comments: 8
Kudos: 11





	1. Hard

The _Psychobilly_ was an ugly ship. 

To be certain most space-fairing vessels were rightly made to the philosophy of function over form. Yet even within the shadow of the twin monoliths of Budget and Technical Standards, most shipwrights of sapient species had the ability and motivation to not draw up a hodgepodge of life-support suites, reactors, habitation areas and a command bridge, bolt a propulsion system to the whole mess and call it a day. All intelligent beings had the innate desire to put things in order, or at least _their_ idea of order. 

The _Psychobilly_ was nobody's idea of order. It was a void-borne freak, plastered with mismatched hull plates of varying color, density, and metallurgical composition to either repair damage caused by the disparate systems malfunctioning, or by the few actual combat engagements into which the ship had been forced. The starboard bridge shared the fore of the vessel with two vertically stacked missile batteries on the port side. The dorsal spine was marred with a forest communication antennae, scanning dishes and pock-marked with maintenance access hatches. The ventral side was studded with a dozen SOEIV drop pods arranged in two rows, their bottoms poking through the hull, evoking the image of a sow about to feed her piglets. The aft also had been touched by the madness that afflicted the rest of the ship's architecture. A single, massive thruster was side by side with an array of four that were absolutely not part of the original design if the welding spots and reinforcing beams were any indication. 

No naval force worth it's name would use this misshapen creature for anything other than target practice or scrap metal, and no navy did.

The pirate captain who owned and operated the _Psychobilly_ had, in his previous life, been the foreman of a repair barge intended to service his colony's space elevator and high orbit shipyards. On July 12th 2522 however, a wave of insurrection cells staged a campaign of bombings and assassinations to seize control of the system. The interim chaos between the downfall of the colonial administration and the point where a UNSC battle group could be mustered proved a perfect opportunity to steal a translight drive from a freighter set to be mothballed.

Since that day he had followed the rebels with the good sense to leave their backward little slice of the universe in the few local defense warships that had turned their coat or been overwhelmed by mutineers. Over twenty years of picking at the scraps left behind by his better armed and armored comrades had suited him quite well. He and the barge's crew had mostly stuck to their former duties of repair and maintenance, albeit on salvaged and stolen parts and taking tasteless MREs and not being killed as payment.

Finally though, after two decades of making piecemeal modifications to the ship from what ever he could scavenge, steal or buy from the other captains in the pirate fleet, he finally had a ship self sufficient enough to strike out on his own and not have to share his spoils with anyone. Striking lone civilian ships carrying supplies at sublight speeds between frontier colonies had proven quite lucrative, as had picking at the graves of true warships after the UNSC Navy and the Covenant had finished rendering each other to space dust.

Those days seemed to be at an end however, the _Psychobilly_ had exited slip-space en route to a recently besieged colony, the original plan was to camp out in the rings of a local gas giant until the Covenant eventually won the naval battle, glassed the settlements and moved on. They were still a jump or two out waiting for slip-space to real-space reconciliation when they stumbled onto their unexpected meal ticket.

It was a type ship few of them had ever heard of much less seen. A ONI Prowler, a top of the line stealth ship, all sharp, efficient, clean angles. Its hull was covered in a cutting edge, matte black stealth coating and an extensive suite of jammers and detection countermeasures besides. A ship like that could have been close enough to spit on them and pass without notice if it approached with all its stealth systems engaged, but they weren't and it didn't. It had just completed a jump. So it was awash with Cerenkov radiation that was as obvious as a lighthouse in the void of interstellar space. 

Looking over the scan feeds, she was also wounded. Engines were sputtering and no weapon locks had been detected. They were even venting atmosphere, and the small size of the ship meant they didn't have too much oxygen to begin with. All they would have to do was wait, board her, step over the vacuum desiccated remains of the crew, gut the ship of whatever was worth half a credit and leave before whoever shot the thing to pieces showed up. The value of the tech on that ship alone was worth a fleet of lesser ships, that's not even factoring anything that it may be carrying, be it intelligence or even captured alien tech. 

This was going to be the easiest payday the _Psychobilly_ ever had.

* * *

This was going to be the hardest fight the UNSC _Homeric_ ever had.

The entire odyssey began one month and ten crewmates ago. Spartan Headhunter Ulysses-B050 had been dispatched to a covert xenoarchaeology site recently unearthed in the Aegead system via the Black Cat-class subprowler. That was followed with reports of a Covenant reconnaissance force being engaged at the systems outer perimeter. The extermination fleet followed seventy-two hours later. Then the ONI science team leading the dig site found a sarcophagus-like artifact that apparently was worth more to the UNSC than the rest of the system put together. The _Homeric_ had been charged with getting it to a secure location so it could aid the fight for humanity's survival. 

Ulysses and the on-site security forces carved a path through a legion of alien zealots hellbent on claiming the artifact for themselves. The sarcophagus was moved to the ship's cargo hold. Ulysses had been the last to board the ship, shooting till the door shut and divested him of a clean firing angle. The troopers he had fought alongside stayed behind to hold off any heavy weapons the Covenant might use to down the _Homeric_. The stealth vessel had taken off before the site had gone up in a mushroom cloud courtesy of a HAVOC tactical warhead. To ensure the Covenant obtained nothing from the ruins.

As they made preparations to leave the atmosphere a squadron of Vampires sprung an ambush. After emptying the ship-to-ship missile system and sustaining what was thought to be minor damage, they were able to break orbit and chart a slip-space jump to safety. But as to not break with the established pattern of triumph followed by catastrophe, the "minor" damage was in fact several heavy anti-air needles that finally detonated halfway through the jump. Translight fail-safes engaged and the _Homeric_ exited to real-space opposite the slapdash ship currently watching them choke to death.

Ulysses couldn't speak Hindi. So the true venom from Captain Nisraiyya's tirade of what was likely profanity was lost on his ears. 

Such conduct would normally be considered unbecoming of an officer. Though none of the surviving bridge crew seemed willing to remind their CO of the expectations her station carried. They were more intent trying make it out of the newest pitfall they found waiting to claim them. For Ulysses' part, his Spartan upbringing focused more on honing his trans-human body and mind as opposed to lessons in etiquette.

The airless bridge was a maelstrom of frenzied activity. Hands raced across consoles, orders and status reports were exchanged, bodies of those who couldn't put emergency re-breathers on in time were pushed out of chairs as their living comrades took over the duties the dead could not attend to. The surviving crew worked with discipline and desperation in equal measure to save the ship. That nothing was currently on fire was owed entirely to the fact the oxygen supply was lost. 

Not for the first time Ulysses wished he could have remained on Aegead VI to continue the fight against the Covenant, at least then the Spartan III could do something apart from keep his towering armored form out of the command staff's way. As soon as that thought coalesced however, it was shaken off. The battle for the Aegead system was lost. That was why he was on the _Homeric_ , and that was why he had to escort the artifact. Killing alien freaks until they drowned him in bodies and exotically hued blood would have made him think that he accomplished something with his death, but it was a weak illusion that would wither under the scrutiny of the analytical part of him that dominated his actions if not his thoughts.

Dying on the colony was a certainty that would have afforded him more agency to decide where he fell and who he took with him, but it also would have a negligible effect on the war effort. Dying on the _Homeric_ was merely highly probable, and that probability dropped every moment the new contact was assessed by the crippled ship. In fact, if they could make it out of this, they had a chance to turn the war in Humanity's favor, to stem the tide of defeat, destruction and death-tolls that had waxed unceasingly for a quarter century.

The situation was not by any means good but it was still salvageable. 

The information from the few scanners still operational had verified that the ship used fusion drives, its hull was an odd variety of plates that didn't match in either coloration or makeup, but they were all still materials used in human starship manufacturing. While they didn't receive an IFF tag, a civilian ship wouldn't have one and even if they did the tag reader had been blown off with the life support systems mid-jump. They were definitely looking at a ship built by good old _Homo Sapiens_ and, since Covenant found everything human an affront to sanctity, crewed by them in all likelihood. Yet as moments stretched into minutes no hailing attempt was made by their new acquaintance, and no response to the _Homeric's_ own hails. A formless dread slowly filled the void that the oxygen had left on the bridge.

"What the hell are they waiting for?" the Rookie ensign manning the comms array finally gave voice to the Spartan's own question. "We're going to suffocate if they just sit there for much longer".

The Veteran officer who had been charged with monitoring life support spoke up from his new station at the sensor array "That _is_ what the damn leeches are waiting for".

"What?" Rookie questioned while turning. His confusion was now all his own as Ulysses was able to deduce from training what Veteran must have known from experience. 

Veteran's explanation came with the leisure of a condemned prisoner "That barely space-worthy eyesore is some pirate's Frankenstein project if I ever saw one, and I've seen a few." He paused, reclining in his chair "They're gonna wait till any oxygen we would have is expended, stack our carcasses in a corner and take whatever they can fit on that ugly little tub and then, if they're feeling particularly bored, blow the ship to bits." The macabre evaluation was punctuated with a sigh of defeat that was compressed by the spotty comm beads built into the masks.

Rookie sunk into his seat, arms fell to his side, his eyes looked at nothing in particular. "We're dead, after everything else, this is how it ends up?" the shock had given way to despair for the young ensign. "All that fighting and running, and we still lose everything."

"No dammit! NO!" Captain Nisraiyya's defiant proclamation drew all eyes to her command dais.

Veteran orientated his seat to face his captain, he'd look at her as he lay out the facts. "With respect sir, we're running out of air, got no ship-to-ship capable weapons and our engines couldn't output enough thrust to move us five feet." He threw up both hands to gesture bridge as a whole "We got nothing."

The Captains rebuttal was fairly succinct. "We have a Spartan."

Veteran actually stopped for a moment at that, looked at Ulysses, but the argument still came. "I'll admit he's a damn good soldier, but unless he has thirty kilos of high yield ordinance shoved up his ass, I'm sure he won't perform nearly as well serving as an anti-ship warhead." 

"Which is why we have to get them to board us before the oxygen runs out." The Nisraiyya countered.

"How?"

The captain didn't answer immediately. Instead she walked over to the body of the former sensory officer and gestured for Ulysses to help move her. He believed he saw her train of thought, so he obliged.

Together they walked over to Rookie at the comms station, Captain Nisraiyya jerked her head to one side. "Move it kid."

After he had gotten up, Nisraiyya keyed in the commands to send another hail. Only rather than input any specific information, she merely uttered "Sorry Rivera" before she dropped the corpse on the haptic keyboard. she had essentially sent the pirates a constant dial tone through the hailing frequencies.

After she muttered what must have been a quick prayer over her fallen comrade, the Captain rounded on the propulsion officer and called for a sitrep on the reactor.

"Green, sir" the crewman replied with drilled alacrity.

"Alright, rig it to meltdown." If there was any air left, that order would have sucked it out of the room.

"Sir, what are you..." the crewman was silenced by the Captain marching past him to the weapons locker at the back of the bridge. She picked up an MA5B, deftly loaded it as well as her sidearm, then turned to address the crew as a whole.

"Those spineless thugs want to take the what we have, and won't budge until they think we're all dead." She moved to the view screen to level an accusing finger at the adversary. "We do things at their pace we _will_ die" she spared a glance at Rivera's body "but if we make them come to us..." she let the surviving crew and the Spartan follow the trail she blazed. To the surprise of none, Rookie was the last to piece everything together.

"If we set the ship to go critical and fool them into thinking everyone is already dead, they'll have to move in if they want anything more than space dust!" he exclaimed, a little to excited he figured it out.

The Captain offered a nod of assent to her subordinate's exuberance and elaborated on her plan. "And as they scramble to pick at their carrion, we'll perform a counter-boarding and catch them with their pants down. Letting us pilot that hideous scrapheap to UNSC controlled space." Nisraiyya turned around to see her surviving crew's eyed fixed on her. The expressions they wore through there masks ran a gamut of emotions from naked amazement, reaffirmation of respect and even some amusement at the level of sheer daring and audacity required for anyone to still be alive at the end. Ulysses showed his own approval as he walked over to the weapons locker and procured his own armaments, he would follow her lead. The only person still seemingly on the fence about the plan was Veteran, he stood apart from the rest, his index finger stroked the chin of his re-breather.

"Not to play the pessimist I clearly am but, even if we can repel the boarding party they send, which assumes in and of itself that they take the bait, any pirate crew with a lick of sense and experience will disengage the connection as soon as the fight turns against them." He crossed his arms "Leaving us stuck where we started, just with less bullets and more bodies." He help up an open-palmed hand, as if to offer the statement to any who would refute it. The other crewmembers had their fiery spirits doused and looked to the Captain to rekindle them. She did not disappoint.

She kept her eyes on the rifle optics she was adjusting and simply said " That's why we're not boarding from the hole _they_ cut into _us._ " 

As the words hung in the air,the crew stared blankly between the two officers. When realization came to Veteran alone, a smirk twisted his face from beneath his mask as he finally arrived at the bizarre destination where his CO had been waiting. He turned to his fellow crewmen and barked "You all heard the Skipper, get your asses into some EVA suits and scrounge up some breaching gear! We're going for a walk outside!"

* * *

The plan was fleshed out as the reactor was sabotaged.

They were half a dozen operatives against a ship nearly three times the size of their own, and while pirates where known to trade off some crew capacity for cargo space in ship design, the numbers still would not be in the survivor's favor. To win the day they would have to exploit the advantage they had in surprise and superior training.

Ulysses knew it was possible. They just had to be coordinated and focused on the plan and their parts to play. First they would exit the ship through a hull breach left by the needles. Hide on the belly of the corsair and let the the pirates to find the sarcophagus. Then the impromptu strike force would wait until the pirates removed the artifact from the _Homeric_ and placed it in their own ship. After they would split into three teams to seize the vessel.

Veteran was to lead the two other survivors to whatever passed for the ships internal security system to lockdown every room in the ship with the emergency blast-doors, giving their comrades exclusive access authority. Captain Nisraiyya and Rookie took to the task of storming the bridge to prevent any command override of Veteran's efforts. Finally they would regroup and clear the ship one room at a time. Ulysses' duty that was twofold. He was to make his way to the cargo hold to secure the artifact and put down anyone in his way to draw as much fire to himself as possible. This was alleviate the pressure on the other two teams. It was up to him make sure everyone had enough breathing room to do their jobs.

With everyone set on their respective goals, they sat in the shadow of the _Homeric's_ underside as the beastly ship crawled ever nearer. As it fell upon them, mag-cables shot out from the pirate's broadside. They stuck to the _Homeric's_ hull and began to pull the ships closer and closer, until a boarding tube large enough for three people to walk abreast emerged from the nightmare of a spacecraft. It adhered against the prowler's side airlock, with that the ONI crew made their move.

Nisraiyya held up her hand to count down from five. As she folded her last digit they kicked off in unison to the opposing craft's ventral hull. 

No side viewports were built into the pirate vessel and all the external scanners placed on the spine couldn't pick up anything approaching from below. Six figures flew undetected to find purchase on the underside of a bloated metal parasite. They adjusted their bodies mid-flight to land feet first on the hull. Mag-clamps in the boots of the EVA suits the operatives wore were engaged. Ulysses activated his own boots and as he affixed himself to the enemy ship in a crouch, he mused that his pewter gray SPI armor made him appear as just another out of place protrusion on the ugly ship. 

The Captain brought up the tacpad affixed to the forearm of her suit and accessed the camera feed from the _Homeric's_ cargo hold. Ulysses saw from his position at Nisraiyya's right that the boarding party of fifteen pirates had found the sarcophagus and had begun to move it towards the tube they embarked from. The Captain closed the feed and readied her gun before she spoke "Alright people, they took the worm now let's give them the hook."

Veteran produced the singular fusion torch taken from the _Homeric's_ engineering station and began to cut the exposed bottom of one of the underslung drop pods. The orange EVA visors and silver SPI faceplate polarized to preserve the survivors retinas from the blindingly bright jet of plasma as it cut through the SOEIV's frame. Forty-five seconds passed as Veteran moved the tool around the pod's circumference. Forty-five more seconds to absorb the calm before the storm broke out in a thunder of gunfire and a rain of bullets. Veteran completed his circuit and the bottom of the pod drifted away to the the nothingness between the stars. Ulysses stepped forward and took a breaching charge Rookie had offered and ducked into the newly made entry port. It was a tight fit inside the pod, but the Spartan was able to maneuver the satchel to sit on the inside face of the entry hatch. He then evacuated the confines of the pod to rejoin the others on the outer hull.

After everyone backed up several meters to clear the blast zone, Captain Nisraiyya once again brought up her tacpad. She waited for a few heartbeats and, with more dramatic flair than was necessary, hit the detonation key on the screen.

The immediate hull patch they stood on shook with the tremors of the explosion. Shrapnel and other fine particulates burst from the hole. Rookie went to move in on the breach. Veteran however, caught his arm. Before the ensign could even turn to question his senior comrade a second wave of debris shot out with just as much energy as the first. Ulysses shook his head in disapproval at the over-eager operative. Built up adrenaline made Rookie forget that the inside of the ship would violently decompress when exposed to the vacuum. The ensign managed a one-handed and sheepish gesture of thanks to his compatriot. 

The group then swiftly filed into the breach one at a time. Ulysses took point and performed an quick but thorough visual sweep of the room. "No contacts." he said, first among the strike team to break radio silence. As the others entered through the pod, he spotted emergency lights flashing wildly above two of the three pressure-doors enclosing the room from the rest of the ship. The lighted doors to his right and left led to the ship's fore and aft respectively. The unlit door directly in front of him looked to be a Class-5 Bumblebee lifeboat that actually been part of the original design of the vessel. If he had to guess, the pirates had added the SOEIVs as jury-rigged escape pods to compensate for a increase of personnel. If he used the seat count as a metric to gauge the opposition they now faced... "Twenty-nine hostiles estimated onboard." His voice was barely above a whisper over the comms.

"Where'd you pull that number from?" the Captain asked.

Ulysses motioned to the Bumblebee with a bob of his head.

Nisraiyya thought aloud over the radio "Sixteen passengers with one pilot" she turned to regard the misappropriated pods "plus twelve SOEIVs. And I doubt they have more crew than they do ways to bug out. Worst thing for a sinking ship would be cut-throats fighting each other for a ride off." 

Veteran spoke up from behind them "Meaning over half their strength is currently taking the artifact to the cargo hold." He spun around to access the console on the wall and keyed the commands to jettison the pod they had entered from. As soon as it was free, a pressure hatch sealed the hole and the room began to repressurize. As the air returned the klaxons that were assuredly sounding in the rest of ship became audible for a time, before being silenced with another set of command inputs. Veteran then opened a schematic of the ship to distribute to the rest of the team.

Ulysses saw the ship as a wireframe model on his HUD. The others looked at their left arms to study the layout on their tacpads. Captain Nisraiyya took a deep breath and exhaled before issuing orders. "Alright, security is to the aft near the engines, cargo is the other way, and beyond that is the bridge" She double-checked her weapon before disengaging the safety. "Mission call signs from here on out will be Alpha, Bravo and Charlie" she gestured to herself and Rookie, Veteran's team and Ulysses in turn "Got it people?" 

A chorus of affirmation responded.

"Good, time to do what ONI does best, make some dissidents mysteriously vanish."

* * *

Barely fifty feet from the door closing behind, they made first contact.

Two hostiles in pressure suits and hardhats had just turned a corner. From the attire and the equipment they carried it was likely the pair had been sent to inspect the sudden depressurization. Their unhurried pace suggested that malfunctions were rote at this point in the ship's lifespan. What wasn't a common occurrence was three heavily armed strangers marching down the hall. To their credit one pirate chucked the tool he carried at Ulysses while the other tried to draw her sidearm. But they were far to slow to have a chance.

The three ONI operatives had weapons drawn, a clear shot, and a half-second advantage. Three muzzles spat at the engineers, ruptured the pressure suits and stained them crimson. The large monkey wrench flew wide and clattered against a bulkhead. Ulysses and Captain Nisraiyya had kept their volley short and controlled. But Rookie squeezed the trigger too hard and expended twice as many rounds as the other two. The recoil made his gun climb and his shots stitched a line from the tool-thrower's torso up to the neck where a round hit the jugular. The pirate dropped face-first to the deck as blood rapidly pooled beneath him.

"Two hostiles down" Ulysses sounded the tally over the comms.

Veteran's reply was timely "Damn, I was thinking we'd get first blood, had less ground to cover, fewer holes for the rats to hide in, heh."

"You'll get your shot at my record, besides, none of us will outscore the Spartan." The Captain added to the display of gallows humor. She then set her sights on Rookie, most likely to chastise his heavy finger. Her rebuke caught in her throat as she saw him shaking slightly, eyes locked on the bodies. "You alright kid?"

Rookie snapped from his trance at her voice. "Y-yes sir, just, you know..." his gaze fell back to the pair on the floor " that was the first time I... a human and..." he trailed off.

Captain Nisraiyya nodded in understanding. "I get it kid, you enlisted to sit in a comfy bridge chair and blow up flying saucers." she placed a hand on Rookie's shoulder "Didn't expect to shoot targets that bleed red, but right now we have a mission to accomplish. I need a team I can count on to act so what's left of us can make it out alive." She stepped closer, bringing him face to face "Can I count on you crewman?"

A final tremor passed through Rookie before he steadied himself and replied "Sir, yes, sir."

The Captain released the ensign and turned to Ulysses "This is where we split Spartan." she gestured to the passage the pirates came from. "Their bridge is down that way, just do me one favor."

"What do you need sir?" Ulysses asked.

"Humor me and say you'll call for backup if things get too hot in the cargo hold." The Captains request had genuine concern in it.

"Understood sir." With his flat reply, the Spartan made to continue down the hallway.

"Out loud, if you please." Nisraiyaa persisted.

Ulysses turned to look at the Captain, lowered his voice and said. "If the situation goes sideways, I'll call for the cavalry."

The Captain's bubbling laugh made her seem half her age for a few heartbeats. After she settled down and the shed years returned to her face, she and Rookie advanced down the side corridor until they hit another intersection and exited his vision. An about-face and Ulysses made his way to the cargo hold.


	2. And Run

The next group of pirates Ulysses encountered were better prepared than the engineers, but not enough to stop him.

The Spartan had entered a relatively large, if dimly lit, room. It seemed to serve as both the ship's galley and mess hall. Long tables and benches were bolted to the deck, while a sink and a row of heating plates along the wall stood ready to make whatever cheap, powdered rations the crew looted from their victims marginally more edible. Long strides took him halfway through when the door on the opposite end started to open. Ulysses registered the movement and ducked behind a support beam in less than a second. As soon as his back hit the pillar, he activated his armor's camouflage. With a single thought relayed through his neural lace, the plates began to shift color to match his environment, rendering him almost invisible while stationary. He peaked from behind his cover to evaluate the new contacts.

The fireteam of six people advanced cautiously. Scanning the room with weapons drawn, they almost looked professional. But Ulysses saw clearly that their unit cohesion was maintained by personal familiarity, not actual military training. He noted some mistakes that would send the most lax drill-sergeant into apoplexy. One or two moved a little ahead of the main group, often wandering in front of their ally's field of fire. Some would move their gun one way and look the other. They also, to a man, left their fingers _on_ their triggers in complete disregard for basic firing discipline. They were amateurs mimicking what they saw in action vids and using whatever tactics they thought worked. Taking them down would prove to be an inconvenience rather than a challenge.

Ulysses waited with raptorial patience, half a minute and the group passed him by. He moved more swiftly and silently than a man over two meters tall in full armor should have able. In a heartbeat, he dropped camo and engaged his prey. A single pirate, lagging behind the rest, was the first to go down. Ulysses reached out with both hands, wrenched the pirate's head and broke their neck. The Spartan tossed the corpse to the side and moved on another two pirates as he drew his knife. He plunged the weapon into the skull of one, withdrew it, and opened the other's throat. The three remaining hostiles heard metal slicing flesh and falling bodies. The first to face the threat was rewarded with a fist that slammed into his nose and sent fragments of bone into his brain.

The final two pirates turned around to see four of their teammates dead and a steel-plated titan standing over the bodies, hands dripping with blood in the grim half-light of the room. Ulysses rushed forward to the stunned men, like an eagle swooping down on a pair of rodents. Mid-stride one was able to shake off his confusion soon enough to shoulder his rifle and fire wildly. The untrained shots whizzed by to the Spartan's left and before the gunman could correct his poor aim, Ulysses closed the distance and seized the barrel with his free hand. With bullets still pouring from the muzzle, the Spartan angled the weapon to riddle the other pirate with holes. The final man had just enough time to realize he killed his friend before the other hand buried the knife in his throat. Ulysses removed the blade, allowing blood to spurt from the wound.

The Spartan paused to examine the aftermath, six hostiles eliminated in five seconds according to the mission clock. He tore a piece of clothing off one of the pirates to wipe his knife, activating his comms as he did. "This is Charlie-one, six hostiles downed".

Veteran was the first to reply, gunfire could be heard in the over the comms. "Ha! You weren't kidding Alpha-one, he's making us look bad." The defeatism he displayed on the _Homeric's_ bridge seemed to have worked its way out of his system. "We have the security station, Bravo-two is working on the lockdown now, but he took a round to the leg".

The propulsion officer's voice held the edge of someone in no small amount of pain. "Don't need to walk to hack, alright lockdown should be happening just about...NOW"! Immediately alarms blared over the ship's intercom system and blast doors engaged, sealing both sides of the mess hall off from the rest of the ship. "There we go, I also jammed their radio, bastards are blind, deaf and all alone." Immediately after the call ended, Ulysses received the data packet containing the access codes. 

"Damn fine work people, I'm almost embarrassed at our own pace". Ulysses thought he heard Rookie straining in the background of Nisraiyya's transmission, then the noise of a panel as it fell against the decking came through loud and clear. "Enemy skipper got twitchy and dug himself in at the bridge, Alpha-two is trying to crack that nut as we speak".

"He's isolated himself from the rest of the systems, I can keep him from overriding the lockdown easy enough, but opening the door will take some time" Rookie explained. The sound of an electrical discharge was paired with a rather creative string of curse words. The young ensign must have shocked himself on some exposed wiring.

After a hearty laugh, Veteran spoke again "Acknowledged, we'll wrap up here then link up with you Alpha, good luck Charlie-one".

Ulysses put his knife away before walking to the keypad at the exit. "I'll get the job done" he said in a sedate tone and cut the comms.

* * *

If the last room was large, the cargo bay was absolutely cavernous.

Ulysses had exited the corridor leading from the mess hall to find himself on a catwalk thirty meters above the floor. He looked around and saw that it wrapped around the perimeter of the bay, the underside was fixed with florescent bulbs to illuminate the bay below. Ladders were randomly placed to allowed access to the lower level. The Spartan saw a miniature city from his vantage point, with buildings composed of shipping containers stacked up to ten meters high. There were avenues cut through the blocks so forklifts and ceiling mounted cranes to move freight to and from the large hangar door to one side of the chamber, well over a hundred meters from his position. Ulysses could see a group of fifteen figures in front of the door, it was the boarding party. He activated the magnification optics in his helmet to get a closer look.

The Boarding party was the best equipped of all the pirates yet encountered. Their pressure suits were all augmented with armor plates, they boasted a much wider array of hardware as well. Assault rifles were still the dominant choice, but five of the corsairs also carried marksman rifles pared with an SMG as a sidearm. Another three seemed to be acting as the leader's bodyguards and sported drum-fed shotguns. The leader himself wore a more heavily armored hard-suit and was armed with a massive NA4 flamethrower.

The squad formed a semi-circle around the sarcophagus, taking cover behind prefab barricades. They couldn't have known the artifact's real value, but they knew whoever had invaded the ship wanted it back. The troops here were much more orderly than the rest of the crew had been. All weapons were pointed outward and proper trigger discipline was observed. The formation was tight enough that anyone easily could support their neighbor's field of fire, but spaced enough that a grenade or volley-fire wouldn't hit more than a couple of men. Ulysses would have found their sudden increase of professionalism and competence uplifting if he didn't have to kill them. As it stood, it just made his job harder.

They gave no sign of that they'd noticed his entrance. The walkway was unlit, allowing him to move without fear of discovery. The problem was he couldn't engage them from as high up as he was, his rifle and sidearm didn't have the accuracy for such a distance. The enemy DMRs wouldn't have any problem hitting a him at the same range. For any plan to work, he'd have to get close. He made for one of the ladders but stopped short.

It was almost too small to notice, a less attentive individual would have missed it and sprung the trap. A fist sized black device was affixed under the lip of the ladder hole cut into the walkway. Ulysses himself had used a few in the past, it was a proximity mine. If he tripped its sensor, half a kilo of plastic explosive would scatter bits of him over the bay. He lamented his enemies loyalties yet again, they would have made excellent soldiers. He had to assume the other ladders were rigged as well. Since the conventional way down was a non-option he would have to get creative.

The Spartan engaged his camouflage and quietly stalked down the walkway until he was above the pirates. He clambered over the railing and adjusted his position until he was directly above one the DMR users. He released one hand from the rail to pull out his rifle and thumbed the fire selector to burst. Ulysses took a deep breath, let it out and pushed off.

It took three seconds to reach the bay floor. In that time Ulysses was able to fire five bursts at the troops below him, four were clean headshots and the fifth pierced his target's chestplate. The pirate marksman didn't have time to recognize the sound from above his head as gunfire before his back was crushed and organs pulverized by one-hundred and thirty-six kilograms of super-soldier landing on top of him. The Spartan's greaves had built-in impact dampeners which were specifically meant to take the brunt falls such as this, but the force of hitting the human-turned-cushion was still bone jarring. Ulysses nevertheless managed to switch his gun to full-auto and empty his magazine into two of the bodyguards. He hurled the empty rifle at another sharpshooter who had begun to recover. The force shattered the man's visor and threw his head back with a wet crunch as he fell. Ulysses then whipped out his magnum and drilled a hole through a third rifleman's braincase. With his opening gambit he had taken down two thirds of their total strength, but the surprise was spent and the pirate commander had finally brought his weapon to bear. In a flash, Ulysses had pivoted around and leaped over to the other side of a barricade, a torrent of flames chasing after him. The skin on his back was scalded as the heat washed over his form, the camouflage system was overloaded by the extreme temperature and disengaged automatically.

"Did you get it Boss?" a woman queried from the other side of the Spartan's shelter.

The reply was harsh, like the speaker had spent his entire life drinking whatever fuel he put in his flamethrower. "Think so, take your street-sweeper and make sure".

"Alright, on it". Her response was followed by a series of rustling and clinking sounds, almost like...hand signals!

Ulysses hastily flicked his eyes to the motion sensor on his HUD. Sure enough two pairs of red dots were moving on his position, they had him flanked. The Spartan's mind worked in overdrive to find a way to regain his momentum. As the dots drew ever closer he moved through his plan in his head, mapping out the steps he would take in the theater of his mind. Ulysses considered all his actions and all of his enemies possible reactions, how fast they had been, how quickly they could draw a bead on him and pull the trigger. With all his vectors calculated and considered, he holstered his pistol and inhaled as deep as his lungs would allow. As the pirates were right on top of him, Ulysses exhaled and sprung to action.

He rounded the edge of the barricade with a shotgun barrel trained on him. The final bodyguard uttered a wordless battle-cry as she opened fire, but the Spartan didn't break his stride. Instead he surged forth, the buckshot had failed to damage his armor plates and the nanocrystal mesh of his bodysuit. As he bridged the gap, he drew his knife in one step before thrusting it under her chin with the next. Ulysses took hold of her gun with his free-hand before he planted his foot on the corpse to kick it into the pirate behind the bodyguard, throwing him to the floor.

He dropped his knife to hold his new weapon with both hands as he turned it on the other pair of gunmen. He squeezed the trigger hard enough that he heard a snap as he unleashed a salvo of shells at the two men, one was disemboweled while the other had his left leg taken off a the knee. As the two writhed in agony, the shotgun jammed and The Spartan discarded it and took off running towards another barricade. He moved not a moment too soon as another wave of fire shot forth from the commander, a third voice joined the choir of screams as the man with the bodyguard pinning him down was roasted alive by his leader's indiscriminate onslaught.

Ulysses dove to safety and waited there, unbearable heat enveloping him in a fiery embrace. Eventually however, the blaze abated. The final hostile uttered a litany of desperate profanity as he tried to fix his malfunctioning weapon. The Spartan wasted no time in rising to his feet, leaving the cover of the barricade and taking aim with his pistol. The M6G magnum delivered a single HE round to the bulbous helmet of the false Hellbringer, ending his struggle with the tool of his trade.

After he put down the unfortunate duo of pirates he had morally wounded, Ulysses made his way over to the sarcophagus. It hadn't sustained any damage from the firefight thankfully, his mission had been completed to the letter. He was just about to key his radio when he heard something. It was a electronic whirring that was building intensity, he paced to the backside of the artifact and froze. The pirates had left a parting gift, another mine was place on the sarcophagus. Instinct that had been drilled into him since he was a child spurred him to move, he made it four strides before the mine detonated and tossed him a dozen meters forward.

He was able to remain conscious, though his ears rang incessantly, he hoped from the noise of the explosion and not a concussion. As he rose to his feet and dusted himself off, he froze. In undisguised panic he looked to the sarcophagus to see the damage. The hunks of metal scattered around had nearly stopped his heart, but his despair had left as quick as the blast itself. Instead, as the smoke cleared, a soft blue luminescence found its way through the dust cloud. Ulysses approached the glow with an inquisitive caution.

He saw now that the sarcophagus had indeed been breached by the explosive charge, but the damage was not as severe as he initially expected. The metal object had only buckled inward from the force of the blast, the other debris was from the deck itself. The sarcophagus was hollow and its walls as thick as his arm. Within the container itself, suspended in mid-air, was a small, rectangular tablet. It wasn't any bigger or thicker than his hand and was made of what looked like the same material as the sarcophagus, except for a circular crystal at its center. The crystal was veined with four glowing, angled lines. Two of the lines kept a general direction, while the outer two turned to either side.

Ulysses stood for a moment, awestruck at the sight before him. But as the ringing faded from his ears, a new clamor rushed to fill the void.

"...arlie-one respond, I repeat, Charlie-one respond! Answer me for fuck's sake you son-of-a-bitch"! Captain Nisraiyya apparently forgone the foreign swear words for ones he could understand.

Without hesitating, Ulysses keyed his radio to address his commanding officer. "This is Charlie-one, I'm green sir...just a little singed" the joke felt awkward as it left his mouth.

A sigh of relief came over the comms "Finally you pick up! Report Spartan, we felt the whole damn ship shake, what happened"?

"Pirates booby trapped the artifact with a proximity mine, it was already ticking by the time I saw it".

Panic had returned to the Captain's voice. "Is it...did the blast"?

"The sarcophagus is busted sir, but it was only the container". Ulysses paused to reach into the breach and retrieve the true prize "Inside was a tablet of some kind, it's undamaged".

The feed was silent as the Captain digested the events he relayed. When she finally did reply, her tone had reacquired the iron she displayed on the Homeric's bridge. "Well...I'll bet my ass that's what ONI really wants. As long as we have that, this mission is a success in my book. Double time it to the bridge Charlie-one, Bravo finished clearing out their pests, I'm guessing you mopped on your end"?

"Yes sir, fifteen additional hostiles confirmed KIA, I'm on my way now".

"Acknowledged, see you soon Spartan".

Ulysses removed a spare magazine for his discarded rifle and placed the tablet in his tactical webbing. He made for one of the ladders to exit the way he entered. He was half way up the ladder when it hit him, the other mines. He promptly eased his grip to slide down the rungs, once at the bottom, he made his way back over to the bodies. He searched the commander's pockets and found what he was looking for. He took the remote detonation switch from the corpse and input the command to disarm the mines. His way clear, he started up the ladder again.

"Just imagine, everything else and that's how I die" the Spartan grumbled to no one in particular.

* * *


	3. Like A Twin-Tailed Comet

The trip to the bridge was brief, even with the limp.

After the adrenaline-high from the fight had burnt out of system, and a wealth of bruises, blisters, sprains and strains had emerged. Ulysses found himself slightly favoring his right leg, it wasn't debilitating, just an irritating souvenir of his jump off the cat-walk. He was also certain that his torso was black and blue from the point-blank shell he took. Whatever else was pulled or popped out he set back in place as it started hurting. The skin on his back was the worst in terms of pain. The first degree burns weren't serious, but walking in full armor and a skintight body suit did him no kindness. 

Even though the trapped enemy CO was the last known hostile onboard, the Spartan proceeded through the corridors of the ship with the strictest vigilance. There was always the possibility that the ship had more personnel than lifeboats and he wouldn't let any ragged outlaw get the drop on him. His cautious pace made him slower, even factoring in his injuries. Ulysses took four minutes in total to reach the intersection Alpha team had separated from him, he did not spare the bodies of their first kills anymore attention that what it took to step over them. Following the ship map from memory, it was a further two minutes before he regrouped with the other survivors of the _Homeric._

Veteran and his team stood in front of the blast-door that blocked off the bridge, weapons at the ready should the pirate captain chose to make a final stand. Captain Nisraiyya looked over Rookie's shoulder as the man worked by the wall opposite the door. The junior officer typed away at his tac-pad with a cable that went from his wrist to an exposed systems junction in the wall. A wall panel lay next the pair of ONI operatives, the crowbar used to remove it discarded nearby. 

"Captain" Ulysses announced his arrival.

The Captain rounded at the sound of his voice, eyes betraying her total surprise. Bravo team swiveled to train their weapon sights on the Spartan, Rookie nearly jumped out of his skin. They all relaxed after recognizing the unmistakable bulk of a third generation super-human.

"Shit soldier, I'm going to have to put a bell on you". Nisraiyya's false censure fell flat when she couldn't keep a smirk off her face.

The Spartan had his own smile hidden underneath his helmet. "That might make me less effective at wet-work sir". Ulysses moved his attention to the sealed entrance "How's the door coming"? He looked at the door, wondering if Rookie could release the lock at all if it was taking him this long.

"Just another minute, maybe two" the ensign said, almost defensively. "The actual security wasn't hard at all, but it's almost like each part has different architecture from the others they're supposed to be working with" he paused to move the cable in to a different port in the junction. "Getting through isn't the problem, it's getting all the systems to work together and do their jobs".

"Makes sense, looking at this thing I'd guess every last wire and rivet came from a different ship the damn vultures looted" Veteran spat. He cast an appraising eye over Ulysses, taking in the soot and scuff marks that decorated his formerly pristine armor. "Goddamn man, I know there was a bomb, but what else happened"?

"There was a flamethrower too". The Spartan's matter-of-fact answer drew incredulous looks from the whole group. Captain Nisraiyya muttered something in Hindi, her soft tone pregnant with amusement. Bravo team joined in their CO's mirth, after realizing Ulysses did, in fact, make a second joke.

Rookie decided to break up his comrades revelry with news of his triumph "While it's good to see the genetically enhanced killing machine's funny-bone hasn't _completely_ atrophied, door is set to open on command". After tapping at his wrist some more he spoke again "I have the ship's intercom too sir, If you want to try _not_ shooting our way through, mix things up a little".

The Captain shrugged "Might as well". She waited a moment as Rookie keyed the command and a tone sounded over the comm's speaker. "Attention commander of the unregistered craft, This is Captain Nisraiyya of the United Nations Space Command's Office of Naval Intelligence. My vessel, the UNSC _Homeric,_ sent multiple emergency distress signals across all channels. Your ship was in position to render reasonable aid to us, yet you stood by and did nothing as we continued to run out of oxygen, with no indication of any inability to either receive our message or move to assist us. Pursuant of the Naval Rescue Act of the UEG Charter of Maritime Obligations, I hereby place you under arrest for willful neglect of persons in peril and suspicion of piracy. How do you answer"?

Bleak silence was the only response.

"Well, dumb bastard had his shot, pop the door kid".

"Yes sir, might want to back up though" Rookie offered. "Hydraulics aren't calibrated worth shit, thing's gonna open hard enough to deform the bulkhead".

The team took position to unload their weapons as soon as the doors parted, Bravo made up the front echelon with Veteran knelt in a firing stance. The Captain stood at the formation's center, her smaller frame giving her just enough clearance to safely fire over Veteran's head. Ulysses took up the rear, his stature allowing him to easily see and shoot past his commander. They were all covering Rookie, who was still at the junction, as he started the countdown.

"3...2...1".

The doors split apart like they were pulled by rockets, a normal person could barely register the movement at such speeds. The Spartan, however, had a greatly enhanced nervous system that catapulted his reaction time past that of the baseline human. As such, Ulysses was able to clearly perceive the doors opening. The augmentations to the capillaries in his eyes likewise, swiftly adjusted to compensate for the higher intensity light that flooded from the bridge. With all his trans-human benefits, Ulysses had just enough time to see the three rotary barrels spinning, grab the back of the Captain's suit, and begin to dive out of the way before the M41 Vulcan unleashed a hurricane of lead. 

Ulysses landed hard on his bad leg, he definitely felt something tear. He immediately forced the pain from his mind as he looked over the Captain. Red meat and exposed bone had replaced the spot where her arm and shoulder were supposed to join. Blood erupted to the erratic heartbeat of a person going into shock. He ripped his gaze away from his wounded commander to spot where the others once stood.

Instead of a team of elite operatives, he saw only pink mist and piles of offal. The only reason he could tell that the mounds of pulped viscera were ever living individuals, was because he remembered where everyone stood before the doors opened. Bravo team's...remains...had stayed in a rough chevron, creating a charnel parody of their breaching formation. Rookie did not even the opportunity to turn around before the salvo reduced him to a smear of against the junction he stood over.

The Spartan slumped against the wall, dumbfounded. He wasn't sure why, at first, he had seen many people die, in more gruesome ways and in greater numbers. He had witnessed whole platoons of marines be vaporized by Elite plasma fire and Grunt suicide bombers, seen scores of civilian corpses arrayed as mutilated effigies by Brute terror squads. As a child he had stood on the bridge of a retreating vessel to behold a Covenant armada glass a planet, his home planet. He was no stranger to deaths on a massive scale, so why would four more render him insensate?

Because it was personal, he concluded. As ridiculous as it sounded, a crew of black-ops agents he had known for little more than a month had been the most consistent human contact he had since he reached puberty. Following Beta company's graduation from the Spartan III program, Ulysses had been earmarked for the Headhunters. His unyielding drive, peerless tactical flexibility and ruthless pursuit of his objectives were traits tailor made for high-risk deep strikes behind enemy lines. Ulysses flourished when put alone into the suicidal training missions that saw him designated a LONEWOLF operative. After that he would never spend more than a few hours with another human being. He would be given a mission briefing by a faceless ONI handler, introduced to the ship that would be transporting him, then stuffed into cryo-sleep until he reached his intended destination. Infiltration and exfiltration flights would be the last step before the cycle started again.

But the _Homeric_ did not have a cryo-bay. That simple truth had facilitated the development of the most substantial relationships outside of his fellow Spartans who he grew up with, or Kurt and Chief Mendez, the men who raised them all to be humanity's defense against the encroaching night. It wasn't like they spent their time on the ship holding hands and singing songs and had revealed their fears, hopes and aspirations to each other. But living in tight confines for weeks on end with people would see anyone strike up an exchange with their crewmates, even if said crewmate was one of the notoriously reserved and private Spartans. A few had some jokes to break the ice, others offered advice for completing a chore or a personal anecdote, loosely connected to whatever task was at hand. The Captain spent what could considered an inappropriate portion of her time engaging with her crew outside of operation necessary conversations, but that interaction built a familiarity and trust among everyone, Ulysses included. 

The loss of those who never made it off the _Homeric's_ bridge definitely affected him to an extent, but those deaths had a sense of certainty to them. Ulysses saw no way they could have dodged the wing of Vampires on Aegead VI, all the other air corridors were untenable as escape vectors. Covenant tech had also almost never been observed to malfunction in the field, so assuming the damage they sustained had been plasma fire, and not unexploded Subanese ordinance, had been a sound assessment to make in an emergency. The crew had no way to know the needles were stuck in the ship, and even if they were aware, there was no way to safely remove them before more Covenant fighter craft showed up. The in-jump detonation was virtually unavoidable.

The pirate's trap seemed laughably avoidable in hindsight. If they had chose a different breech formation or had tried to see inside the bridge before they opened the doors, if they tried to take command of the ship through bypassing the bridge altogether or even just decided to vent the command decks atmosphere. The could-haves and what-ifs hauled the Spartan further and further into his well of despair and shock. He would have sank to the bottom if Nisraiyya's anguished moans had not brought him surging back to reality.

The Captain applied tepid pressure to her wound with her remaining arm, she was still alive and fought to stay that way, Ulysses wouldn't let her fight alone. The Captain could still make it, _his_ Captain could still make it. He couldn't kill a Vampire that the ship had already shot down on a planet a million miles away, nor could he avenge the people on the bridge against the vacuum of space. But he absolutely could end one more pirate to save the last member of the _Homeric's_ crew.

He reviewed the glimpse of the bridge he had gotten before the shooting started. The pirate captain had situated the turret behind a mobile barricade, identical to the ones used by UNSC forces both in ships and on the ground. The distance he stood at would take the Spartan seven steps to close the gap. Though the corridors of the ship no longer thundered with the gun's discharge, Ulysses could still hear the whir of the barrels as they spun, the hostile was ready to fire at the first sign of motion through the doorway. With the sheer volume of fire the weapon could output, the Spartan would be mulched before he could make it halfway. His armor wouldn't stop rounds meant to take down aircraft and light vehicles.

His pistol's smart-link sight would allow him to fire without exposing too much of himself, but sticking his gun around the corner would make it impossible to grip the weapon properly so he could shoot straight, and the cover the of barricade and guard plates on the turret stacked the odds against the shot even further. There hadn't been any grenades aboard the _Homeric_ and the Captain would bleed out in the time it would take for him to get to the corsair's armory. His eyes frantically combed the area, looking for anything he could use.

Ulysses finally saw something that could work. The crowbar that had pried open the wall panel was close by, the plan swiftly formed around to tool. He may not have been able to hit the pirate's head from behind the barricade, but using the crowbar, he could hit the gun's barrels, throwing off the pirate's aim and give himself a window to move. The Spartan ignored the ache in his leg as he rose to his feet. He retrieved the tool from the floor and moved to the edge of the opening. 

He inhaled until his lungs were as full as he could manage, and held it for seven interminable seconds. As the air was pushed from his body, Ulysses took a step to the doorway and readied his arm to throw. On the second step he was in the opening proper, the crowbar flew like a thunderbolt from a god's hand. On the third step, the tool made contact with the gun and fouled its aim by the time the Spartan took a fourth. The fifth step saw the pirate desperately try to readjust his sight picture to fire. The sixth time Ulysses' foot hit the decking, the gun was lined up and ready to end his life. It very well might have, if the Spartan hadn't been airborne at the time. In a high jump to see any Olympian weep with envy, Ulysses cleared the barricade and landed behind the pirate. With one hand, the Spartan grabbed the man's shoulder to spin him around while the other wrapped around his neck and hauled him off his feet.

Ulysses' sight fogged over in a haze of fury, he didn't see anything, didn't hear anything. The only sensation his mind registered was his grip growing tighter and tighter, he didn't snap out of his trance until his fingers and thumb touched each other. With his faculties regained, the Spartan looked upon what his momentary loss of control had wrought. The pirate's bloodshot eyes bulged grotesquely out of their sockets, the skin under his hand was a nearly black shade of purple. Ulysses dropped the body, he figured he must have ground the vertebrae to gravel, seeing as the neck now more resembled the twist between two links of sausage. He didn't give the life he had taken a second thought, he was utterly focused on the life he could save, the life that mattered.

The Spartan quickly found a first-aid kit affixed to the wall of the room, he didn't so much as open it as he did rip the front cover off the main body. Ulysses plucked a canister of biofoam from the box and made his way back into the corridor. He found the Captain where he left her, hand still on her shoulder as she tried to stem the blood loss. 

He took a knee and undid the seal for her EVA helmet then took out his knife. He flipped it to hold it by the blade in front of Nisraiyya's mouth, her eyes were unfocused, but she understood his intent. As the Captain bit down on the handle, Ulysses put the nozzle of the canister against her wound, drawing a wince and sharp intake of breath. "On three, alright"? The Captain nodded weakly at his question. "Okay, one..." the Spartan depressed the button and Nisraiyya immediately let out a pained grunt. The off-white substance shot from the nozzle and quickly bubbled over the wound, it hardened in a matter of seconds to seal the hole and prevent further bleeding. The disinfectants would sterilize the area and the anesthetic would keep Captain Nisraiyya from going further into shock.

With a drawn out sigh, Ulysses helped his CO to her feet and walked to the bridge. After setting her down in the command chair, the Spartan made his way to the navigation console to chart a jump. Status readouts flowed across the screen.

He turned around to address Nisraiyya "The acceleration coils for the drive are ancient and poorly maintained, they need time to realign before we can jump safely. Looks like they exited slip-space a few hours before us".

The Captain was able to respond, just barely. "So they just had our ass fall into their laps, heh, can't tell if that's an amazing stroke of luck or evidence that whatever divinity that may exist in the universe has a twisted fucking sense of humor". She let out a humorless chuckle. "Well, whatever it means, we got time to kill before we can move this tub without it falling apart, you trained in triage Spartan"?

"Enough to keep you alive when the foam breaks down sir". Ulysses answered

Whatever the Captain was going to say, it was interrupted by the sensor array blaring an alarm. When Ulysses moved to investigate, his heart jumped into his throat. The scanners had detected slip-space ruptures forming fifty kilometres off the bow. Across the black gulf of space, miniature stars briefly flared into existence before vanishing. In their place, organic shapes, colored a brilliant purple, advanced in staggered formation. The Covenant had finally caught up with them.

Almost a minute crawled by until the Captain spoke "Enter randomized coordinates and execute the jump" the finality in her tone held no room for argument. 

That didn't stop Ulysses from trying "Sir if we...".

"I know what a premature jump means, soldier" Captain Nisraiyya cut him off. She gave him an almost apologetic look before continuing. "If we have to choose between being ripped apart at an atomic level, or watching the hinge-heads pry the artifact from our dying hands, then there's no choice at all. They can not have it, whatever it is".

"Understood, sir". It may have felt like another defeat, but the Captain was right, there was no other option. To let the Covenant get the tablet after everything else would have made all their crewmate's deaths been for less than nothing. Ulysses set the computer to input random values for the jump parameters, with that done he withdrew the tablet from his webbing. He turned it over in his hand as he thought aloud. "Wonder if it even would have done anything".

"Whatever it is, they want it. Keeping it out of their scaly, grubby hands is good enough for me".

Ulysses didn't say anything to that. He continued to inspect to tablet, he was set to put it down when he noticed something peculiar. The light from the crystal center was building in intensity. As the intercom counted down from ten, the brightness only increased until, at zero, it exploded from the confines of the tablet. Before Ulysses could even blink, his body, the bridge, and the whole ship were all enveloped in an incandescent blue sphere. The orb stood in the void for several moments, before contracting, leaving almost no trace that it or the ship had ever been there to begin with. The only evidence that the _Psychobilly_ had even existed at all was the piece of boarding tube still connected to the _Homeric_ , and that was destroyed along with the prowler when the reactor finally went critical hours later. 

* * *

As the light faded, Ulysses found himself standing in the exact same spot.

He did not expect that, but wasn't really sure what he did expect. Nothing on the bridge had been changed in any way from before the light had swallowed everything in its expanse. The pirate still lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, and the tablet was still in his hands, its luminescence returned to its level before the jump. The Captain sat in the command chair, looking just as confused as he was.

"What the hell just happened? You said the coils weren't aligned, it's been a while since I taught high school physics, but I don't think the fundamental principles of faster-than-light travel changed in a decade". Captain Nisraiyya tried to keep an even tone, but a small amount of panic seeped through nonetheless. 

Ulysses regarded the navigation screen again as he answered. "They weren't aligned, still aren't. But we did make a jump and somehow kept all our particles where they're supposed to be". He pulled his eyes from the lines of data look out the bridge's view-port, his mind needed a second take to process what he saw. The sun-ward side of a terrestrial planet dominated the area in front of the ship. Blue oceans, green continents and white clouds painted the sphere in the colors of a garden world, ripe with life and potential. Before the jump, they had been in an interstellar wasteland, no solid celestial bodies for hundreds of light-years.

The Captain had finally noticed new world before them as well. "There aren't any known planets that match this one within jump-range of our last known location, hell, there are no know planets period that were in jump-range besides Aegead". She observed the sight before she began to speculate "I think we have an idea why the artifact was such a high priority asset, it must be some sort of slip-space regulator, able to refine the efficiency of drives to increase range and speed".

Ulysses considered the implications of the Captain's theory, to say they were earth-shattering would be an understatement. The ability to move at a more rapid pace throughout the galaxy could tip the scales of the entire war. For the longest time the UNSC had to balance the size of battle groups against how quickly they could make it to an incursion on human territory. They had to be large enough to outnumber and overwhelm superior Covenant vessels, but at the same time, they only had so many ships to go around. If they kept all of them in a few vast fleets that could win naval engagements, then they couldn't cover as large an area as they could if they spread vessels out more. Any planet outside of jump-range from a fleet would be glassed before help could arrive.

But if ONI could replicate the technology, then the matter of distance would be less of an issue. It wouldn't win Humanity the war outright. But it could make it a fairer fight, let them push back harder and not lose as much ground as quickly as they have been. That would give them the breathing room to grind the otherwise renlentless Covenant advance to a halt. As Ulysses allowed himself a rare streak of optimistic thought, he also realized that if they could make it to the end of the war, the time to retake old worlds and discover new ones would also be a fraction of current figures. The planet in front of them could be the first new colonization project since the war began. And with all the hope the Spartan could muster from his jaded heart, not the last.

The Captain's voice pulled Ulysses back to the present for a second time that day. "Have the scanners compare our position to the star-charts in the database, I want an idea of exactly how far this miracle working paperweight took us". 

He gave his commander an affirmation before setting to work. As he went about his task however, his enthusiasm began to bleed off from what the data was telling him. Some stars were coming up as a negative in the system, to be expected if they were in an uncharted area of space, but the ones that could be placed were in positions that were familiar, too familiar. "That...can't be" the Spartan breathed out.

"What can't be"? The Captain had her own high spirits dampened at his disbelieving tone. 

Ulysses checked the results three times over, and ran four systems diagnostics after that to ensure the instruments were functioning properly. After the numbers on the screen refused to change, he finally began to consider the impossible reality he was faced with. He stood up from the station and turned to Nisraiyya. "The astrometrics are registering our location as...inside the Sol system".

The Captains eyes went wide, the words taking a moment to sink in. "Please tell me that's another bad Spartan joke".

Ulysses kept his silence.

"Scan the planet" the Captain demanded.

"Sir, if the star-charts can be trusted..." Ulysses began.

Captain Nisraiyya's voice was firm and deep "Do it! we have to be sure"!

The Spartan moved over to the sensor array to begin the scans. When the results came quick, and only served to deepen the mystery. The planet wasn't Earth, it was almost three times the size. It had two natural satellites, the smaller of the pair put out an absurd amount of unknown, erratic energy readings. The magnetic poles of the planet were confluences of the same type of energy as the lesser moon. A fourth, more stable, source stood over one of the oceans. Though as the differences between the world and Mankind's cradle began to mount, immutable similarities appeared as well.

The topographical scan showed continents that looked like a seventeenth century map of Earth drawn from memory after the cartographer took a blow to the head. The landmasses were roughly the same shape as real-Earth, but the finer details didn't line up at all, To start with the western coast of the pseudo-North America looked like it had been chopped up and pulled apart, the entire Australian landmass replaced by two equal sized islands and the energy source in the pseudo-Atlantic had an entire subcontinent encircling it. 

Ulysses's mind reeled from the insanity he saw, he almost didn't feel the whole ship shudder beneath his feet.

"And what fresh hell is this?" Nisraiyya bemoaned the newest curveball whipped into their face.

The Spartan looked over the sensor readout to identify the problem, he found it. "We're inside its gravity well in a decaying orbit, twenty minutes and we'll be in free-fall over umm...'Europe'". He would not mention that the gravity was somehow identical to Earth-standard despite the difference in mass, they had already had enough questions with no apparent answers.

"Well use the engines to get us in geo-sync then".

Ulysses went at a fevered pace to get the commands in, with the propulsion course set to stabilize their orbit, he set the engines to work. The red error message flashed only twice before he put his fist through the screen. "They won't respond, the jump put out a surge that overloaded the fusion coils".

The Captain thought for a moment before struggling to get on her feet. After she managed to extricate herself from the chair, she turned to give Ulysses his orders. "Grab that fucking thing" she pointed to the tablet "this wreck won't survive reentry, our best shot is the Bumblebee back at our infill point". Nisraiyya placed a hand on the lump of foam that kept all her blood where she needed it "You're going to have to drive".

The Spartan nodded "Understood, we'll stop by the infirmary, get a slightly more permanent solution for you sir".

They left the bridge together, Ulysses took a few steps before he realized the Captain had stopped at the doorway. He was about ask what was wrong when she knelt before the bodies of their comrades. On by one she moved to the four operatives and removed their ID-tags, and said a lyrical prayer over all of them. With the service complete, she returned to the Spartan's side. The two of them walked down the corridor in a serene silence. 


	4. And Get Back Up

They made it to the lifeboat with little time to spare.

Ulysses found his pace slowed by his Captain, though he had been able to apply the biofoam in a timely fashion, Nisraiyya had still lost a dangerous amount of blood. When they made it to the infirmary, the first thing the Spartan looked for was a transfusion pack. Afterwards, he secured several sets of triage dressing, spare biofoam canisters and a field surgery kit. As he turned around to leave, he saw the Captain with her remaining arm on the wall for support. Nisraiyya could barely keep herself upright. Ulysses stowed the supplies in a duffel-bag and moved to his Captain.

"We good to-gyahhh"! The Captain released a surprised yelp as Ulysses draped her arm across his chest and positioned her on his back. Captain Nisraiyya's alarm was quick to give way to her indignation "I look like a damn toddler to you soldier"?

Ulysses gave a simple retort "You look like someone who's lost almost a quarter of their blood and still has to go through atmospheric reentry sir". The Captain's protests after that were short-lived and halfhearted.

At the fifteen minute mark they were at the Bumblebee. Successive tremors had rattled the two as the ship was pulled closer to the planet's surface, but the Spartan held his feet and made the trip without incident. A quick series of commands into the keypad and the lifeboat's doors opened and they entered. Ulysses set Captain Nisraiyya down in a seat and attempted to secure her crash harness. She batted his hands away with more strength than he expected.

The Captain shot him an annoyed glare. "I can buckle myself in at the very least 'Mom'" she hissed, then pulled the harness down.

After it clicked and locked into place Ulysses made his way to the pilot's chair to prepare the launch sequence. The control panel sprung to life and avionics booted up, real-time metrics from the main ship's sensors filled the screens that framed the armored viewport. He looked over the figures and measurements, plotting vectors and making calculations in his head. The trajectory of the pirate ship had narrowed as impact drew nearer, the crash site would be in the planet's analogue of the North Sea.

Nisraiyya called from behind him "Do we have an angle for reentry? Bumblebees can be sketchy on a ship-of-the-line, never mind this up-jumped trash scow".

"It'll be close" Ulysses turned in his seat to face her "but I can do it, you can count on me sir". He received a firm nod from his Captain, satisfied that she trusted in his abilities and training, he returned his attention to the controls and completed the final launch preparations. With a board full of green lights, the Spartan waited for the attitude indicator to reach the optimal position for the lifeboat to hit the atmosphere. If the angle was too steep or too shallow, they wouldn't slow down enough to survive the impact. With the main ship going down in the ocean, the lifeboat would be launched facing to the south. Ulysses brought up to topographical map that the scanners had compiled. He began to chart where exactly they would land, he was able to mark a spot along the coast of would have been the Netherlands on the true Earth.

Suddenly, the entire ship began to shake violently. Unlike the previous tremors, this turbulence did not subside after a few moments. The vessel must have finally entered the atmosphere and was meeting more resistance than it was ever designed to handle. Ulysses had planned on waiting to launch the lifeboat until after they were inside the mesosphere, he would let the larger vessel take the brunt of the reentry stress to make the descent as easy for his wounded commander as could be managed.

The shaking grew increasingly more intense, Ulysses figured that any further delay would risk more than it would reward and initiated the launch. The doors at the end of the silo tunnel opened and friction flames spilled over the lip of the entryway. Ulysses was forced back into his seat as the lifeboat lurched forward.

He blinked and they had cleared the mouth of the silo, for a few peaceful moments, the Spartan was afforded an unobstructed view of the almost-alien world that had been discovered. The east was shimmering with the light of the local star as it rose from the horizon. The twilight planetscape was juxtaposed to a plain of inky blackness, the luminescence of the false Sol formed an incandescent bulwark against the dark and all-encompassing void. He drank in the sight for the handful of seconds it had endured. In time however, the fires of reentry had crept over the viewport to consume the artistry the universe had presented to him. Ulysses let his melancholy sit for a moment before he expelled it with a breath. He set his eyes on the controls once more, ready to guide the lifeboat on its controlled descent to the surface.

* * *

Aerithann, Archmage of Cothique, had always been a light sleeper. 

He had been awoken roughly an hour after midnight, a weak, tingling sensation had settled over his body to rouse him from a dreamless sleep. At first he thought he had left his chamber's window open before falling asleep. He rose from his bed with a distinctly elven grace, taking great care not to disturb his wife who occupied the other side of the grandiose canopied bed. He had stood up with the intent to close the offending aperture, when he saw that it was already latched shut. The door was likewise sealed to bar any draft from the room.

Yet the feeling was undoubtedly not his imagination. 

He stood utterly still for a moment, as he mused over the nature of the sensation that had come upon him. A heartbeat later and he realized that it was not his body being stimulated, but his soul. His magesight had been stirred from dormancy as his true sight would be by a faint light or his hearing from a distant clamor. Elated at the prospect of a magical puzzle to solve, Aerithann closed his eyes and began to take deep, measured breaths and recited ancient mantras. Drawing upon centuries of study and mystic training, he expanded his mind beyond the restraints of mortal perception. When he opened his eyes, he did not see the physical world.

Before him lay the world unseen by those who lacked talent for the arts of magic. He saw living beings uncloaked of their corporeal trappings. His wife Mehvida, the servants that slumbered in their quarters and the night guards that patrolled the mansion's grounds, all appeared as brilliant sparks floating upon an ethereal sea. Woven between the points of soul-light, vibrant streams of energy ebbed and flowed to saturate the air with their power. The eight Winds of Magic were omnipresent in the world, shaping the material plane in unnumbered ways. Some were subtle and indirect, others were decidedly less so.

Aerithann closely inspected each strand of the Aethyric currents that surrounded him. From the stark purity of the White Wind of Hysh, to the fog-wreathed mystery of the Grey Wind of Ulgu, and everything in between. His scrutiny was wasted however, none of the winds had gone through any fluctuation sufficient enough to disturb his rest. He stilled his thoughts to focus wholly on the phenomenon, hoping to unravel the riddle through concentration and willpower.

With all distraction pushed from his mind, Aerithann was able to truly examine the force that had manifested. He almost did not believe the answer he came to. However, there was no mistaking the truth of the matter. It was Qhaysh, the High Magic, the combined utilization of all the winds in perfect harmony. Only an Asur master of the arcane like himself could command the Great Art without being consumed by the raw power.

This was most bewildering. He was sure he was not the culprit, and Aerithann knew for a fact that no other mage capable of such a feat currently resided in the Elftown of Marienburg. 

What drove the mystery even further was the fact that he did not sense traces of a minor spell cast in his vicinity, but rather, felt the distant echoes of a titanic evocation still in progress. As he traced to waves of power to their wellspring, Aerithann found his attention drawn skywards and beheld a single star upon the celestial field.

The stars did not appear when one used the magesight.

Final realization crashed upon the elf like a tidal wave. His gaze fell not on a heavenly body, he beheld a massive, far-off confluence of Qhaysh. An orb of pearlescent radiance stood defiant against the great black gulf beyond the circles of the world. Aerithann stood awestruck, the enormity of the occasion rendering him speechless. In time he was able to gather enough of his scattered wits to decide a course of action. He was the only person on the continent, perhaps the planet, capable of observing the event. All other mages capable of recognizing High Magic we within the borders of Ulthuan itself. The Great Vortex on the Isle of the Dead would certainly produce too much interference for his colleagues to notice the event, let alone study it.

There were some persistent rumors that the Asrai, the Wood Elves of Athel Loren, also utilized the harmony of the winds as the High Elves did. While Aerithann had no reason to doubt the abilities of his sundered kin, he knew that any knowledge they gleamed would never leave the confines of their forest home. The Asrai were notoriously aloof at the best of times, openly hostile at the worst.

As it stood, if this tremendous moment in the history of magical academia was to be recorded, it fell to Aerithann alone. His insight could be utilized for the betterment of the world as a whole.

His course set, the master wizard pulled a robe over his bedclothes and left his chambers, his stride overflowing with a surety of purpose unrivaled at any other time in his long life. The unrestrained enthusiasm that suffused his being saw him glide through the vacant halls of the manor like a humming bird. He passed tapestries and portraits, depicting various members of Mehvida's family through the annals of elven history. A few relics of his own bloodline had also been put on display, though the vast majority of heirlooms from the Argentcrowns lay across the sea, in the possession of his eldest brother Vanadel.

Thoughts of his boyhood, spent at the seaside palace of his forbears, came to his mind. Days of watching the ships crewed by his father's men sail out of Whitereach Bay. Brave and adventurous elves, charged with protecting the kingdoms from Druchii corsairs, Norscan raiders and any other foe that would threaten Ulthuan's sanctity.

Happier days, when Father still sat upon the Silver Throne. 

He shook the gloom from his heart, to lament a bygone time would not serve the task at hand. Aerithann doubled his pace. Within moments, he arrived at the wide double doors of his private study. He entered the room and quickly set to work gathering instruments vital to the observation of magical anomalies. When to tools of his craft were arrayed before him, the mage then opened the doors leading out to a spacious balcony. a brisk autumn wind caressed the exposed skin of his face and hands. The breeze had cooled the sweat on his forehead had not noticed before.

Aerithann wasted no time as he wheeled a bejeweled telescope out onto the balcony. The device's lens was ensorcelled with potent scrying magics, specially attuned to detect the flow of ley lines within the atmosphere. the mage aligned the implement to the location where he had last observed the nexus of Qhaysh. When that was done he once again called upon his magesight and peered into the eyepiece.

Aided by the telescope, Aerithann was able to see the orb in sublime detail. He saw the roiling energies shift and flow as the ambient Winds of Magic were drawn into the symphonic sphere. That the currents of the Aethyr were woven together by what seemed to be their own accord was an unheard of occurrence. The wizard may as well had the telescope sewn to his face. He sat for hours, as he recorded every minuscule fluctuation and change the orb went through. His hands worked independently from his eyes as they wrote down all he observed in a leather bound research journal.

After a time, the orb seemed to have reached a critical mass. It had ceased the intake a magic, the power it had already absorbed began to whirl beneath the surface. It continued to build its intensity for what seemed like an eternity. Aerithann had finally lost his previous intrigue. Instead a feeling of dread had begun to settle in the pit of his stomach.

His natural curiosity had finally been joined by the temperance his mentors toiled for decades to instill in him. There was a good reason why only the most disciplined wizards of the Asur attempted to weave the eight winds together simultaneously. The sheer amount of power was monumental, many overconfident apprentices had been destroyed in their gambit to command the might of the Great Art unprepared.

Those were only individual elves, none had harnessed even a fraction of the power of the titanic globe had accrued. While he was confident that the orb was far enough away that it posed no physical danger to the world, an uncontrolled detonation could send the already fickle Aethyric Winds into a frenzied hurricane. That the surge of magic could even adversely affect the Great Vortex was an all too real possibility. Yet even as dread gave way to naked panic, Aerithann kept to his task. His hands did not stop in their motion, his eye never left the lens.

The diligent scholar continued to observe the cosmic tempest grow more violent with each passing second, until finally, it had reached its crescendo. 

As suddenly as the orb had materialized in the night sky, it vanished like a smothered candle-flame.

The Winds of Magic that had been gathered to mind-bending proportions, dissipated like smoke that had been trapped inside a bubble. Aerithann was struck witless by the affair, his journal fell from his numb hands to the tiled floor of the balcony. The absurdity of the night's events struck him like a thunderbolt. Not even a minute ago he was contemplating the possibility of an apocalyptic Storm of Magic ravaging the world. Now he just sat in a robe on his terrace, listening to the breeze off the Manannsport Sea blow through the streets of a sleeping city. 


	5. So a thing happened

So this isn't a real update, I had replied to a comment that the final chapter would be out by Monday. While this is no longer the case, I do intend to finish this story by the end of the week but extenuating circumstances have forced a small delay. On an absolutely related note, if you or someone you know is struggling with substance or alcohol abuse, please, don't hesitate, reach out and get help, it can and will save lives.


End file.
